Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character by Edward Bannerman Ramsay

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Curious scenes took place at funerals where there was, in times gone by,
an unfortunate tendency to join with such solemnities more attention to
festal entertainment than was becoming. A farmer, at the interment of
his second wife, exercised a liberal hospitality to his friends at the
inn near the church. On looking over the bill, the master defended the
charge as moderate. But he reminded him, "Ye forget, man, that it's no
ilka ane that brings a _second_ funeral to your house."

"Dr. Scott, minister of Carluke (1770), was a fine graceful kindly man,
always stepping about in his bag-wig and cane in hand, with a kind and
ready word to every one. He was officiating at a bridal in his parish,
where there was a goodly company, had partaken of the good cheer, and
waited till the young people were fairly warmed in the dance. A
dissenting body had sprung up in the parish, which he tried to think was
beneath him even to notice, when he could help it, yet never seemed to
feel at all keenly when the dissenters were alluded to. One of the chief
leaders of this body was at the bridal, and felt it to be his bounden
duty to call upon the minister for his reasons for sanctioning by his
presence so sinful an enjoyment. 'Weel, minister, what think ye o' this
dancin'?' 'Why, John,' said the minister, blithely, 'I think it an
excellent exercise for young people, and, I dare say, so do you.' 'Ah,
sir, I'm no sure about it; I see nae authority for't in the Scriptures.'
'Umph, indeed, John; you cannot forget David.' 'Ah, sir, Dauvid; gif
they were a' to dance as Dauvid did, it would be a different thing
a'thegither.' 'Hoot-o-fie, hoot-o-fie, John; would you have the young
folk strip to the sark?'"

Reference has been made to the eccentric laird of Balnamoon, his wig,
and his "speats o' drinking and praying." A story of this laird is
recorded, which I do think is well named, by a correspondent who
communicates it, as a "quintessential phasis of dry Scotch humour," and
the explanation of which would perhaps be thrown away upon any one who
_needed_ the explanation. The story is this:--The laird riding past a
high steep bank, stopped opposite a hole in it, and said, "Hairy, I saw
a brock gang in there." "Did ye?" said Hairy; "wull ye hand my horse,
sir?" "Certainly," said the laird, and away rushed Hairy for a spade.
After digging for half-an-hour, he came back, quite done, to the laird,
who had regarded him musingly. "I canna find him, sir," said Hairy.
"'Deed," said the laird, very coolly, "I wad ha' wondered if ye had, for
it's ten years sin' I saw him gang in there."

Amongst many humorous colloquies between Balnamoon and his servant, the
following must have been very racy and very original. The laird,
accompanied by Hairy, after a dinner party, was riding on his way home,
through a ford, when he fell off into the water. "Whae's that faun?" he
inquired. "'Deed," quoth Hairy, "I witna an it be na your honour."

There is a peculiarity connected with what we have considered Scotch
humour. It is more common for Scotsmen to associate their own feelings
with _national_ events and national history than for Englishmen. Take as
illustrations the following, as being perhaps as good as any:--The Rev.
Robert Scott, a Scotsman who forgets not Scotland in his southern
vicarage, and whom I have named before as having sent me some good
reminiscences, tells me that, at Inverary, some thirty years ago, he
could not help overhearing the conversation of some Lowland
cattle-dealers in the public room in which he was. The subject of the
bravery of our navy being started, one of the interlocutors expressed
his surprise that Nelson should have issued his signal at Trafalgar in
the terms, "_England expects_," etc. He was met with the answer (which
seemed highly satisfactory to the rest), "Ah, Nelson only said
'_expects_' of the English; he said naething of Scotland, for he _kent_
the _Scotch_ would do theirs."

I am assured the following manifestation of national feeling against the
memory of a Scottish character actually took place within a few
years:--Williamson (the Duke of Buccleuch's huntsman) was one afternoon
riding home from hunting through Haddington; and as he passed the old
Abbey, he saw an ancient woman looking through the iron grating in front
of the burial-place of the Lauderdale family, holding by the bars, and
grinning and dancing with rage. "Eh, gudewife," said Williamson, "what
ails ye?" "It's the Duke o' Lauderdale," cried she. "Eh, if I could win
at him, I wud rax the banes o' him."

To this class belongs the following complacent Scottish remark upon
Bannockburn. A splenetic Englishman said to a Scottish countryman,
something of a wag, that no man of taste would think of remaining any
time in such a country as Scotland. To which the canny Scot replied,
"Tastes differ; I'se tak ye to a place no far frae Stirling, whaur
thretty thousand o' your countrymen ha' been for five hunder years, and
they've nae thocht o' leavin' yet."

In a similar spirit, an honest Scotch farmer, who had sent some sheep to
compete at a great English agricultural cattle-show, and was much
disgusted at not getting a prize, consoled himself for the
disappointment, by insinuating that the judges could hardly act quite
impartially by a Scottish competitor, complacently remarking, "It's aye
been the same since Bannockburn."

Then, again, take the story told in Lockhart's Life of Sir Walter Scott,
of the blacksmith whom Sir Walter had formerly known as a horse-doctor,
and whom he found at a small country town south of the Border,
practising medicine with a reckless use of "laudamy and calomy[169],"
apologising at the same time for the mischief he might do, by the
assurance that it "_would be lang before it made up for Flodden_." How
graphically it describes the interest felt by Scotchmen of his rank in
the incidents of their national history. A similar example has been
recorded in connection with Bannockburn. Two Englishmen visited the
field of that great battle, and a country blacksmith pointed out the
positions of the two armies, the stone on which was fixed the Bruce's
standard, etc. The gentlemen, pleased with the intelligence of their
guide, on leaving pressed his acceptance of a crown-piece. "Na, na,"
replied the Scotsman, with much pride, "it has cost ye eneuch already."
Such an example of self-denial on the part of a Scottish cicerone is, we
fear, now rather a "reminiscence."

A north country drover had, however, a more _tangible_ opportunity of
gratifying his national animosity against the Southron, and of which he
availed himself. Returning homewards, after a somewhat unsuccessful
journey, and not in very good humour with the Englishers, when passing
through Carlisle he saw a notice stuck up, offering a reward of L50 for
any one who would do a piece of service to the community, by officiating
as executioner of the law on a noted criminal then under sentence of
death. Seeing a chance to make up for his bad market, and comforted with
the assurance that he was unknown there, he undertook the office,
executed the condemned, and got the fee. When moving off with the money,
he was twitted at as a "mean beggarly Scot," doing for money what no
_Englishman_ would. With a grin and quiet glee, he only replied, "I'll
hang ye a' at the price."

Some Scotsmen, no doubt, have a very complacent feeling regarding the
superiority of their countrymen, and make no hesitation in proclaiming
their opinion. I have always admired the quaint expression of such
belief in a case which has recently been reported to me. A young
Englishman had taken a Scottish shooting-ground, and enjoyed his
mountain sport so much as to imbibe a strong partiality for his northern
residence and all its accompaniments. At a German watering-place he
encountered, next year, an original character, a Scotsman of the old
school, very national, and somewhat bigoted in his nationality: he
determined to pass himself off to him as a genuine Scottish native; and,
accordingly, he talked of Scotland and haggis, and sheep's head, and
whisky; he boasted of Bannockburn, and admired Queen Mary; looked upon
Scott and Burns as superior to all English writers; and staggered,
although he did not convince, the old gentleman. On going away he took
leave of his Scottish friend, and said, "Well, sir, next time we meet, I
hope you will receive me as a real countryman." "Weel," he said, "I'm
jest thinkin', my lad, ye're nae Scotsman; but I'll tell ye what ye
are--ye're juist an _impruived_ Englishman."

I am afraid we must allow that Scottish people have a _leetle_ national
vanity, and may be too ready sometimes to press the claim of their
country to an extravagantly assumed pre-eminence in the annals of genius
and celebrities. An extreme case of such pretension I heard of lately,
which is amusing. A Scotsman, in reference to the distinction awarded to
Sir Walter Scott, on occasion of his centenary, had roundly asserted,
"But _all_ who have been eminent men were Scotsmen." An Englishman,
offended at such assumption of national pre-eminence, asked indignantly,
"What do you say to Shakspeare?" To which the other quietly replied,
"Weel, his tawlent wad justifee the inference." This is rich, as an
example of an _a priori_ argument in favour of a man being a Scotsman.

We find in the conversation of old people frequent mention of a class
of beings well known in country parishes, now either become commonplace,
like the rest of the world, or removed altogether, and shut up in
poorhouses or madhouses--I mean the individuals frequently called
parochial _idiots_; but who were rather of the order of naturals. They
were eccentric, or somewhat crazy, useless, idle creatures, who used to
wander about from house to house, and sometimes made very shrewd
sarcastic remarks upon what was going on in the parish. I heard such a
person once described as one who was "wanting in twopence of change for
a shilling." They used to take great liberty of speech regarding the
conduct and disposition of those with whom they came in contact, and
many odd sayings which emanated from them were traditionary in country
localities. I have a kindly feeling towards these imperfectly
intelligent, but often perfectly cunning beings; partly, I believe, from
recollections of early associations in boyish days with some of those
Davy Gellatleys. I have therefore preserved several anecdotes with which
I have been favoured, where their odd sayings and indications of a
degree of mental activity have been recorded. These persons seem to have
had a partiality for getting near the pulpit in church, and their
presence there was accordingly sometimes annoying to the preacher and
the congregation; as at Maybole, when Dr. Paul, now of St. Cuthbert's,
was minister in 1823, John M'Lymont, an individual of this class, had
been in the habit of standing so close to the pulpit door as to overlook
the Bible and pulpit board. When required, however, by the clergyman to
keep at a greater distance, and not _look in upon the minister_, he got
intensely angry and violent. He threatened the minister,--"Sir, baeby
(maybe) I'll come farther;" meaning to intimate that perhaps he would,
if much provoked, come into the pulpit altogether. This, indeed,
actually took place on another occasion, and the tenure of the
ministerial position was justified by an argument of a most amusing
nature. The circumstance, I am assured, happened in a parish in the
north. The clergyman, on coming into church, found the pulpit occupied
by the parish natural. The authorities had been unable to remove him
without more violence than was seemly, and therefore waited for the
minister to dispossess Tam of the place he had assumed. "Come down, sir,
immediately!" was the peremptory and indignant call; and on Tam being
unmoved, it was repeated with still greater energy. Tam, however,
replied, looking down confidentially from his elevation, "Na, na,
minister! juist ye come up wi' me. This is a perverse generation, and
faith they need us baith." It is curious to mark the sort of glimmering
of sense, and even of discriminating thought, displayed by persons of
this class. As an example, take a conversation held by this same John
M'Lymont, with Dr. Paul, whom he met some time after. He seemed to have
recovered his good humour, as he stopped him and said, "Sir, I would
like to speer a question at ye on a subject that's troubling me." "Well,
Johnnie, what is the question?" To which he replied, "Sir, is it lawful
at ony time to tell a lee?" The minister desired to know what Johnnie
himself thought upon the point. "Weel, sir," said he, "I'll no say but
in every case it's wrang to tell a lee; but," added he, looking archly
and giving a knowing wink, "I think there are _waur lees than ithers_"
"How, Johnnie?" and then he instantly replied, with all the simplicity
of a fool, "_To keep down a din, for instance_. I'll no say but a man
does wrang in telling a lee to keep down a din, but I'm sure he does not
do half sae muckle wrang as a man who tells a lee to kick up a
deevilment o' a din." This opened a question not likely to occur to such
a mind. Mr. Asher, minister of Inveraven, in Morayshire, narrated to Dr.
Paul a curious example of want of intelligence combined with a power of
cunning to redress a fancied wrong, shown by a poor natural of the
parish, who had been seized with a violent inflammatory attack, and was
in great danger. The medical attendant saw it necessary to bleed him,
but he resisted, and would not submit to it. At last the case became so
hopeless that they were obliged to use force, and, holding his hands and
feet, the doctor opened a vein and drew blood, upon which the poor
creature, struggling violently, bawled out, "O doctor, doctor! you'll
kill me! you'll kill me! and depend upon it the first thing I'll do when
I get to the other world will be to _report you to the board of
Supervision there, and get you dismissed_." A most extraordinary
sensation was once produced on a congregation by Rab Hamilton, a
well-remembered crazy creature of the west country, on the occasion of
his attendance at the parish kirk of "Auld Ayr, wham ne'er a toun
surpasses," the minister of which, in the opinion of Rab's own minister,
Mr. Peebles, had a tendency to Socinian doctrines. Miss Kirkwood,
Bothwell, relates the story from the recollection of her aunt, who was
present. Rab had put his head between some iron rails, the first
intimation of which to the congregation was a stentorian voice crying
out, "Murder! my heed'll hae to be cuttit aff! Holy minister!
congregation! Oh, my heed maun be cuttit aff. It's a judgment for
leaving my godlie Mr. Peebles at the Newton." After he had been
extricated and quieted, when asked why he put his head there, he said,
"It was juist to look on[170] wi' _anither woman_."

The following anecdote of this same Rab Hamilton from a kind
correspondent at Ayr sanctions the opinion that he must have
occasionally said such clever things as made some think him more rogue
than fool. Dr. Auld often showed him kindness, but being once addressed
by him when in a hurry and out of humour, he said, "Get away, Rab; I
have nothing for you to day." "Whaw, whew," cried Rab, in a half howl,
half whining tone, "I dinna want onything the day, Maister Auld; I
wanted to tell you an awsome dream I hae had. I dreamt I was deed."
"Weel, what then?" said Dr. Auld. "Ou, I was carried far, far, and up,
up, up, till I cam to heeven's yett, where I chappit, and chappit, and
chappit, till at last an angel keekit out, and said 'Wha are ye?' 'A'm
puir Rab Hamilton.' 'Whaur are ye frae?' 'Frae the wicked toun o' Ayr.'
'I dinna ken ony sic place,' said the angel. 'Oh, but A'm juist frae
there,' Weel, the angel sends for the Apostle Peter, and Peter comes wi'
his key and opens the yett, and says to me, 'Honest man, do you come
frae the auld toun o' Ayr?' 'Deed do I,' says I. 'Weel,' says Peter, 'I
ken the place, but naebody's cam frae the toun o' Ayr, no since the
year'" so and so--mentioning the year when Dr. Auld was inducted into
the parish. Dr. Auld could not resist giving him his answer, and telling
him to go about his business.

The pathetic complaint of one of this class, residing at a farm-house,
has often been narrated, and forms a good illustration of idiot life and
feelings. He was living in the greatest comfort, and every want
provided. But, like the rest of mankind, he had his own trials, and his
own cause for anxiety and annoyance. In this poor fellow's case it was
the _great turkey-cock_ at the farm, of which he stood so terribly in
awe that he was afraid to come within a great distance of his enemy.
Some of his friends, coming to visit him, reminded him how comfortable
he was, and how grateful he ought to be for the great care taken of him.
He admitted the truth of the remark generally, but still, like others,
he had his unknown grief which sorely beset his path in life. There was
a secret grievance which embittered his lot; and to his friend he thus
opened his heart:--"Ae, ae, but oh, I'm sair hadden doun wi' the bubbly
jock[171]."

I have received two anecdotes illustrative both of the occasional
acutenesss of mind, and of the sensitiveness of feeling occasionally
indicated by persons thus situated. A well-known idiot, Jamie Fraser,
belonging to the parish of Lunan, in Forfarshire, quite surprised people
sometimes by his replies. The congregation of his parish church had for
some time distressed the minister by their habit of sleeping in church.
He had often endeavoured to impress them with a sense of the impropriety
of such conduct, and one day Jamie was sitting in the front gallery,
wide awake, when many were slumbering round him. The clergyman
endeavoured to draw the attention of his hearers to his discourse by
stating the fact, saying, "You see even Jamie Fraser, the idiot, does
not fall asleep, as so many of you are doing." Jamie, not liking,
perhaps, to be thus designated, coolly replied, "An I hadna been an
idiot, I micht ha' been sleepin' too." Another of these imbeciles,
belonging to Peebles, had been sitting at church for some time listening
attentively to a strong representation from the pulpit of the guilt of
deceit and falsehood in Christian characters. He was observed to turn
red, and grow very uneasy, until at last, as if wincing under the
supposed attack upon himself personally, he roared out, "Indeed,
minister, there's mair leears in Peebles than me." As examples of this
class of persons possessing much of the dry humour of their more sane
countrymen, and of their facility to utter sly and ready-witted sayings,
I have received the two following from Mr. W. Chambers:--Daft Jock Gray,
the supposed original of David Gellatley, was one day assailed by the
minister of a south-country parish on the subject of his idleness.
"John," said the minister, rather pompously, "you are a very idle
fellow; you might surely herd a few cows." "Me hird!" replied Jock; "I
dinna ken corn frae gerss."

"There was a carrier named Davie Loch who was reputed to be rather light
of wits, but at the same time not without a sense of his worldly
interests. His mother, finding her end approaching, addressed her son in
the presence of a number of the neighbours. 'The house will be Davie's
and the furniture too.' 'Eh, hear her,' quoth Davie; 'sensible to the
last, sensible to the last.' 'The lyin' siller'--'Eh yes; how clear she
is about everything!' 'The lyin' siller is to be divided between my twa
dauchters.' 'Steek the bed doors, steek the bed doors[172],' interposed
Davie; 'she's ravin' now;' and the old dying woman was shut up
accordingly."

In the _Memorials of the Montgomeries_, Earls of Eglinton, vol. i. p.
134, occurs an anecdote illustrative of the peculiar acuteness and
quaint humour which occasionally mark the sayings of persons considered
as imbeciles. There was a certain "Daft Will Speir," who was a
privileged haunter of Eglinton Castle and grounds. He was discovered by
the Earl one day taking a near cut, and crossing a fence in the demesne.
The Earl called out, "Come back, sir, that's not the road." "Do you
ken," said Will, "whaur I'm gaun?" "No," replied his lordship. "Weel,
hoo the deil do ye ken whether this be the road or no?"

This same "Daft Will Speir" was passing the minister's glebe, where
haymaking was in progress. The minister asked Will if he thought the
weather would keep up, as it looked rather like rain. "Weel," said Will,
"I canna be very sure, but I'll be passin' this way the nicht, an' I'll
ca' in and tell ye." "Well, Will," said his master one day to him,
seeing that he had just finished his dinner, "have you had a good dinner
to day?" (Will had been grumbling some time before.) "Ou, vera gude,"
answered Will; "but gin onybody asks if I got a dram after't, what will
I say?" This poor creature had a high sense of duty. It appears he had
been given the charge of the coal-stores at the Earl of Eglinton's.
Having on one occasion been reprimanded for allowing the supplies to run
out before further supplies were ordered, he was ever afterwards most
careful to fulfil his duty. In course of time poor Will became "sick
unto death," and the minister came to see him. Thinking him in really a
good frame of mind, the minister asked him, in presence of the laird and
others, if there were not one _great_ thought which was ever to him the
highest consolation in his hour of trouble. "Ou ay," gasped the
sufferer, "Lord be thankit, a' the bunkers are fu'!"

The following anecdote is told regarding the late Lord Dundrennan:--A
half silly basket-woman passing down his avenue at Compstone one day,
he met her, and said, "My good woman, there's no road this way." "Na,
sir," she said, "I think ye're wrang there; I think it's a most
beautifu' road."

These poor creatures have invariably a great delight in attending
funerals. In many country places hardly a funeral ever took place
without the attendance of the parochial idiot. It seemed almost a
necessary association; and such attendance seemed to constitute the
great delight of those creatures. I have myself witnessed again and
again the sort of funeral scene portrayed by Sir Walter Scott, who no
doubt took his description from what was common in his day:--"The
funeral pomp set forth--saulies with their batons and gumphions of
tarnished white crape. Six starved horses, themselves the very emblems
of mortality, well cloaked and plumed, lugging along the hearse with its
dismal emblazonry, crept in slow pace towards the place of interment,
preceded by Jamie Duff, an idiot, who, with weepers and cravat made of
white paper, _attended on every funeral_, and followed by six mourning
coaches filled with the company."--_Guy Mannering_.

The following anecdote, supplied by Mr. Blair, is an amusing
illustration both of the funeral propensity, and of the working of a
defective brain, in a half-witted carle, who used to range the province
of Galloway armed with a huge pike-staff, and who one day met a funeral
procession a few miles from Wigtown. A long train of carriages, and
farmers riding on horse-back, suggested the propriety of his bestriding
his staff, and following after the funeral. The procession marched at a
brisk pace, and on reaching the kirk-yard style, as each rider
dismounted, "Daft Jock" descended from his wooden steed, besmeared with
mire and perspiration, exclaiming, "Hech, sirs, had it no been for the
fashion o' the thing, I micht as weel hae been on my ain feet."

The withdrawal of these characters from public view, and the loss of
importance which they once enjoyed in Scottish society, seem to me
inexplicable. Have they ceased to exist, or are they removed from our
sight to different scenes? The fool was, in early times, a very
important personage in most Scottish households of any distinction.
Indeed this had been so common as to be a public nuisance.

It seemed that persons _assumed_ the character, for we find a Scottish
Act of Parliament, dated 19th January 1449, with this title:--"Act for
the way-putting of _Fenyent_ Fules," etc. (Thomson's Acts of Parliament
of Scotland, vol. i.); and it enacts very stringent measures against
such persons. They seem to have formed a link between the helpless idiot
and the boisterous madman, sharing the eccentricity of the latter and
the stupidity of the former, generally adding, however, a good deal of
the sharp-wittedness of the _knave_. Up to the middle of the eighteenth
century this appears to have been still an appendage to some families. I
have before me a little publication with the title, "The Life and Death
of Jamie Fleeman, the Laird of Udny's Fool. Tenth edition. Aberdeen,
1810." With portrait. Also twenty-sixth edition, of 1829. I should
suppose this account of a family fool was a fair representation of a
good specimen of the class. He was evidently of defective intellect, but
at times showed the odd humour and quick conclusion which so often mark
the disordered brain. I can only now give two examples taken from his
history:--Having found a horse-shoe on the road, he met Mr. Craigie, the
minister of St. Fergus, and showed it to him, asking, in pretended
ignorance, what it was. "Why, Jamie," said Mr. Craigie, good
humouredly, "anybody that was not a fool would know that it is a
horse-shoe." "Ah!" said Jamie, with affected simplicity, "what it is to
be wise--to ken it's no a meer's shoe!"

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